


Like How a Word

by Port



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Community: Towerparty, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5187698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Port/pseuds/Port
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny wakes up and gives himself away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like How a Word

**Author's Note:**

> For Round 2 of the [Towerparty Marvel Speed Challenge](http://towerparty.livejournal.com). My prompt was: "Like how a single word / Can make a heart open." Thanks for reading!

At the first loud rap against the door, Johnny shot up out of bed before even opening his eyes. His resultant scramble for balance had him almost flaming on to keep from falling, but that was a no-no when he was so disoriented; someone he loved could be close enough to burn. Instead, he stumbled around with the sheets tangled about his legs; seemed he’d been tossing and turning.

“Hey, Torch, wake up!”

“Pete? The hell are you--hold your horses, would you?” He set a flame flickering near the ceiling and saw that, yes, he was in his bedroom in the Baxter Building. Jeez, he was so out of it he barely remembered bunking down earlier. Absently, he grabbed a tissue and blew his nose before hunting around for some shorts.

“You decent yet?” Peter called through the door. 

Johnny chewed on an appropriate response to that opening, but his thoughts were fuzzy and the moment passed while he stepped into some boxers he’d found lying on the floor. Instead of answering, he opened the door. Peter was in costume, mask and all. He stood on the balls of his feet, radiating the sort of eagerness that could only mean one thing. 

“Here for Reed’s lab?”

“You look awful!”

They’d spoken at the same time.

“Well, thanks,” Johnny sighed, not finding it in himself to bicker like he normally would. 

Peter cocked his head, assessing. “You have a cold. Oh, God, are you going to infect me with the plague?”

Johnny spared a thought for how he might manage that: perhaps by pulling up the mask just enough to lick his way into Peter’s mouth. What a cruel way to declare you dig a guy, though, giving him the plague. Johnny wearily lifted his arms and waggled his fingers like he was some kind of infectious zombie, and Peter chuckled. 

“Picked it up from Franklin and Val,” Johnny said. “I keep telling Reed to get around to curing the common cold, but he’s just as heartless as you are.” Johnny sniffled a little. “So you need the lab?”

“Yeah, I need to analyze some samples, make sure they’re from Earth and not, you know, outer space or another dimension. But it looks like you’re the only one around.”

“Yeah, the others are off doing something in outer space or another dimension or something,” Johnny said. “Probably both.” He yawned widely without bothering to cover his mouth and leaned against the doorframe. “You know you can use the lab any time. You don’t have to ask.”

Peter shrugged. “I like to let someone know I’m here.”

“You’re a well-mannered superhero,” Johnny said. 

“I’m the Emily Post of superheroes,” Peter said.

It suddenly seemed to Johnny that they were standing at his doorway like a couple at the end of a date, unwilling to say goodnight quite yet. The thought threw off his timing, adding some awkward silent beats to their banter. To his horror, Johnny felt himself flush. He looked up and saw Peter had cocked his head, the way he did when looking closely at something, or solving a problem. 

But all Peter said was, “Jeez, you are really out of it. I’ll let you get back to bed.”

Okay, he had an out. Best to take it and get some sleep, right? “Nah, I’d only lie awake feeling gross. Want some company while you do your thing?”

With the mask on, it was hard to tell, but Peter seemed to perk up at the suggestion. He lost that attentive stance and stood up straighter. “I could use a guinea pig,” he said.

Johnny rolled his eyes, turning back inside to hunt for his robe. Peter wandered in after him, for once keeping both feet planted on the floor instead of springing to the ceiling and crouching upside-down to stare at him with knowing eyes. Johnny enhanced the flame he’d set up; he seemed to remember tossing a robe onto the floor a few nights ago, after the cold first hit.

“So what makes me heartless, anyway?” Peter asked. 

“Huh?”

“Just now. You said Reed’s almost as heartless as I am. What’ve I done lately?”

“Oh, uh….” Had those words really come out of Johnny’s mouth? He had the flu! He couldn’t be held accountable for awkward Freudian slips. “I just meant waking a guy up in the middle of the night. Pretty cold, dude.”

“We’re superheroes, Johnny. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed this, but we pretty much are the night.”

“That’s very poetic.” His follow-up sarcastic comment, however, was cut off by a hacking cough that felt and sounded not unlike sandpaper scraping adamantium. _Ah, good_ , he thought. _The cold is progressing to its next stage_. When he caught his breath, his temples were pounding and the room was dark. He’d lost the minor bit of concentration it took to keep his flame alive. 

“Easy there,” Peter murmured, and placed a gloved hand over Johnny’s shoulder, squeezing him reassuringly.”You know what would be heartless?” Peter asked, guiding him back toward the bed. “Making you hang out while you should be resting.”

Peter pushed him along with a firm strength, not seeming to have any trouble navigating in the dark, and Johnny felt a perverse impulse to resist a little, see if Peter would use his spider-strength to wrestle him onto the mattress. An old fantasy, never a bad one, but probably a bad idea. Peter was his friend, and not heartless--just tragically straight. So he went easily where Peter directed him, under the covers, alone. Peter’s hand returned after he settled, rubbing friendly circles over his back, and it was so comforting that between that and his itchy sinuses and the ache in his chest and the pounding in his temples, he thought he might weep. “Go on, get outta here, Spidey,” he groaned. Had he ever felt this miserable and pathetic?

“What are you, embarrassed to be sick around me?” Peter asked, not getting up. His palm continued to rub circles over his back.

Johnny would have laughed. Peter had seen him at his worst, whether laid out during super-powered battles or just really hungover after a night on the town. It would never have occurred to Johnny to be embarrassed in front of him--not about anything. Not even about the way he wanted him. 

Even so, though, Johnny recognized a serious pining mood when he fell into one, and Peter being really nice for once wasn’t helping. 

“Nah, wouldn’t want to get you sick is all,” Johnny said.

“I do wear a facemask.” Peter hesitated, then said, “I never really liked being sick by myself. Always had Aunt May or Mary Jane around to keep me company. If it’s the same for you, I’ve got time.”

It was the same for Johnny, actually. The building had felt pretty quiet since his family had left on their mission. And this was Peter, who Johnny never liked to say “so long” to in the first place. “Yeah, okay.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want you thinking I’m heartless.”

“Oh, God, are you going to get over that?”

“Not till I understand it, no. It’s just a… funny thing to say.”

Too exasperated to think clearly, Johnny turned over to face his friend and stared hard at him, annoyed. “Why do you think I said it?”

Peter stared back at him, the mask annoyingly blank as ever. And then he reached up and rolled the mask away from his face, revealing an expression somehow both fierce and vulnerable. “I thought--” He cleared his throat. “I thought maybe it had to do with me misreading your signals all the time.”

“Signals? I don’t give off signals. I think I’d know if I was--”

“Dude, you are a walking smoke signal. Literally, yes, but also metaphorically. I thought that was just how you are, no matter who you’re talking to, but now…. I think maybe you just don’t know how to flirt right.”

Johnny had been following along with a wild sort of dreadful hope, and Peter’s hands were hypnotizing as they gestured all over the place to punctuate himself, so it took a minute for Peter’s conclusion to sink in. 

“I-- _I_ , me, _I_ don’t flirt right? No, I changed my mind. Go stare at molecules under the electron microscope or something. Johnny Storm doesn’t flirt right?”

“Well, it hasn't exactly been working on me, has it?”

Left speechless, Johnny threw up his hands, ignoring the little cough caused by his exertion. “That’s arguable. You’re here, aren’t you?”

Peter grinned. “So I can stay? Because, um, I'd really like to. Always would have, if I'd thought....”

Johnny reached to clasp Peter’s arm and pull him over to the other side of the bed, the side that usually was empty. He felt a little thrill when Peter didn’t just allow it but got himself settled there. 

“Depends," Johnny murmured. "How do you feel about the plague?”

Peter sighed. “Hand me my mask and get some rest. I guess tomorrow’s another day.”

 

**End**


End file.
